


All in a Good Cause

by themadlurker



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bachelor Auction, F/F, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadlurker/pseuds/themadlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur should have known better than to get involved with another one of Morgana's charity events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [briar_pipe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/briar_pipe) and [kaizoku](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizoku) for their wonderful beta work on this. Thanks also to [magog_83](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83) for the britpicking, and to [sophinisba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba), [vensre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vensre), and other finishathon people for the cheering along the way.

Arthur's phone dinged in the middle of a meeting with a prospective client, and he had to stop short in his explanation of why one couldn't declare oneself a tax shelter when one operated exclusively in the city of London to read:

>  **Appointment reminder:** Charity auction, noon, February 12th.  
>  **Notes:** Don't you dare "forget" this one, Wart.

He waited until the meeting was over (unproductive — Olaf should have known better than to think Arthur would fiddle the books — even for his "father's old friend") to text Morgana:

>   
> _Stop hacking my calendar. No intention repeating last year's travesty, not available as last-minute Valentine's date for your socialite friends, also _have girlfriend_ now. S might object to auctioning me to highest bidder._   
> 

A reply came back almost instantly: _attendance not optional bring S as date wear tuxedo play nice w donors_

Arthur flicked his phone shut in annoyance and resolved to ignore the entire exchange. In retrospect, he should've known it wasn't that easy to get rid of Morgana.

* * *

Morgana usually called after a long day at the studio to insist that Arthur entertain her. Sometimes she tracked him down wherever he was working and dragged him out on the town. He didn't think anything of it when she called the night before the auction and then dragged him out to his favourite coffee bar to drink espresso at him while he struggled not to hit his head against the table in exhausted frustration.

"And everybody was running around in a flap like chickens with their heads cut off," Arthur complained to her. "You'd think they'd just floated their stock for the first time, not been in business for forty years. I was embarrassed for them," he confessed.

Morgana snickered into her coffee and Arthur stopped in his recitation of the day's work woes to glare at her suspiciously.

"You didn't _know_ the company stock was going to collapse, did you?" he asked. "It didn't come up on your teleprompter or something? God, Morgana, you could've warned me."

"I did a forecast last week about looming financial difficulties for that type of small company," Morgana said guilelessly. "You said you watched it, remember? Anyway, surely it shouldn't come as a surprise to you? You're their accountant."

"Once a year," Arthur said defensively. "I don't go in on every second Sunday to hold their hands. Hang on, you _knew_ I handled their accounts?"

"Hmm, well, I like to take an interest in family activities, unlike some people I could mention," Morgana said sweetly. "It was pure coincidence that Sporks Incorporated happened to turn up as an example of likely stock price failures."

"Their stock only plummeted because of a sudden unexplained loss of confidence!" Arthur exclaimed. "Not so unexplained now, I suppose. Morgana how _could_ you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said innocently. "By the way, how's that lovely girlfriend of yours, Sophia? Did she have a good trip?"

Arthur stared at her in horror. "I forgot. Oh my god, I completely forget. I've been running around all day and — she's going to kill me."

"Oh, I doubt it, this is only the third time. She'll probably just break up with you." Morgana patted his arm sympathetically.

Arthur buried his face in his hands. "What time is it now? I can't bear to look."

"Hmm? Oh, about nine o'clock, but don't worry, I'm sure she went to find a taxi after a few hours." Morgana waved one perfectly manicured hand at their waiter for another coffee.

"So, now that your weekend plans with Sophia are likely to be cancelled," Morgana added in the same blithe tone, "I suppose you _will_ be able to attend my fundraiser event after all?" She produced her phone with a casual flick of the wrist and entered a note on the keyboard. "How lovely, the bidding goes _much_ higher when you're there. All the disappointed hopefuls with their wallets already out and waving in the air. The orphans will thank you."

"It's medical research this time," Arthur ground out between clenched teeth. "It's for bloody cancer research, can't you keep these things straight?"

Morgana consulted her calendar with another idle glance and said, "Oh, right. I knew it was one of your favourites, anyway." She gave a short, sharp laugh at something on her phone.

"Haven't you got one shred of moral decency?" Arthur asked.

"I can't imagine what you're talking about," said Morgana. "I'm extremely involved in charitable work, unlike you, who can barely be bothered to attend these functions because you don't, and I quote, 'want to talk to a bunch of self-congratulatory snobs', which is a rather snobbish opinion in its own way, really. Some of us _do_ care enough to be active in the charitable community."

Arthur didn't say that the prime reason he hated the cancer fundraisers was that people always tried to be _sympathetic_ to him, which they never dared try with Morgana for some reason.

A new cup of coffee appeared at Morgana's elbow and she switched from one cup to the next without pausing for breath. She didn't even bother to check the temperature, but since she didn't scald herself, Arthur assumed she had the staff here tamed already. It was ridiculous how quickly she could get people wrapped around her little finger. She'd only started meeting Arthur here last week. _Arthur_ had been coming here for months and leaving generous tips, and he still wasn't sure they weren't spitting in his coffee. It was all so bloody... _Morgana_. Typical.

"I hope you're tipping them well for that sort of service," Arthur muttered resentfully. Since he didn't have the questionable ability to remain conscious after 48 hours of being run off his feet, he needed to get some sleep tonight. He stared jealously at the dark liquid.

"I think you'll find _you're_ tipping them well," Morgana drawled and then before he could protest added, "You shouldn't have bragged about having a tab here if you didn't want me to abuse it."

"You're not going to get any sleep at all if you go on like that," Arthur said, gesturing to the empty coffee cups lined up next to the most recent one.

"I never get any sleep at night," Morgana said. It was true. Morgana spent her work hours at least 85% fuelled by caffeine and Arthur wouldn't have been surprised if she passed out, when she eventually did pass out, with a coffee cup still clenched between her fingers. "So why not enjoy the generous refills at this establishment?"

"The next time you ask me to recommend a coffee bar, I'm giving you the address for a Starbucks," Arthur grumbled. Watching Morgana knock back cup after cup was making him wish he could join her, but he knew if he did he'd be wired and staring at the ceiling all night, and then she'd end up mocking him for being raccoon-eyed the next morning. He had never worked out how Morgana managed her flawless presentation despite so many sleepless nights; expertly applied make-up, probably.

Morgana just smirked. "That will teach you to change the automatic settings on my espresso machine."

Arthur's phone pinged and he slid it out to find a text message: _"GO DIAF PENDRAGON. If you ever call me again I will eviscerate you."_

He gulped. That was definitely the end of things with Sophia, then. She was not exactly the forgiving type. On their second date she'd run into an ex and the poor bloke had ended the night with a split lip and three broken ribs. (Admittedly it had been the Avalon Club bouncer who broke the ribs.)

The feline look of satisfaction that curled its way across Morgana's lips said everything it needed to: she'd probably been texting Sophia a minute ago, or possibly sending pictorial evidence that Arthur was relaxing in a coffee bar instead of rushing out of a burning building determined to catch up with Sophia at all costs.

"You can't go around ruining people's jobs — people's relationships — people's lives! just so you can manipulate my social schedule!" Arthur protested.

"Why not?" Morgana blinked at him.

"Because it's... it's... it's just _wrong_!" Arthur spluttered.

"If people don't _want_ to be told what to do with their money, they shouldn't watch my program," said Morgana. "I'm not the one who panicked and dumped stock in a company just because the name was mentioned on television. And if a business can't survive one little dip, it's probably not very sound to begin with."

"I wish your viewers could hear you talk like this," Arthur said bitterly, "then you could try surviving a little dip in your ratings."

Morgana snorted. " _Please._ Half of them are more cynical than I am and the other half don't understand a damned thing about money and only watch to stare at my breasts." She raised an elegant eyebrow at him. " _Speaking_ of sex appeal..."

"No. No. I'm not going to—" Arthur could feel himself starting to blush. "Look, I'll turn up, and shake people's hands, and say how grateful I am to everyone for coming out and digging deep in their pockets, and all the usual clap-trap, but if you think for _one minute_ that you're going to parade me around like a — a piece of _man-meat_ —"

Morgana sniggered at him.

"You know what I mean!" Arthur flushed hotly. "The last time I got up on the auction block one of your friends tried to _molest_ me!"

"Viv was just over-excited by winning, and a little too much champagne." Morgana looked at him sternly. "You needn't bring it up every time you run into the poor girl, she's embarrassed enough about the incident as it is."

"She tried. To _lick_ me," Arthur bit out.

"You should be grateful," Morgana said without sympathy, "she's incredibly hot."

"It wasn't even our date yet!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'd just been introduced to the girl."

"Who was drunk and didn't do you any harm, honestly," said Morgana who looked about an inch away from rolling her eyes at him. "Look, I won't put you on the block tomorrow if you don't want to, but you'll at least turn up? Maybe even put up a bid, for the look of the thing? You're single now, and if Sophia's too fresh for you to be looking for a new girlfriend yet we have some lovely—" Morgana smirked "— _man-meat_ up for sale."

Arthur's cheeks by now were burning, and he nodded just to shut Morgana up. "Fine, I'll be there. Happy now?" He stood to go. "Is there some other way you'd like to ruin my day, before I turn in, or will that be all?"

"Don't be so melodramatic," Morgana said loftily. She ran a critical, thoroughly disinterested eye over his figure. "Worry isn't good for your looks, and you need to be charming tomorrow."

Arthur counted to ten in his head and then reminded her, "My girlfriend just broke up with me, because you fucked with my job, because I didn't RSVP to your fundraising event. Do you really expect me to go home and sleep soundly tonight?"

"Yes," said Morgana, "because you look exhausted. Now run along home." She dismissed him with a casual wave of the hand that smoothly became a move to flag a passing waiter.

The most annoying bit of it all was that Morgana turned out to be right. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Arthur slept like the dead.

* * *

Arthur woke to an annoying buzzing in his head that turned out, after a great deal of perplexed searching, to be the sound of his phone. He stared at the photo of Morgana from his contact list, and the clock, which read 6:03 a.m. and answered the call with a heart-felt groan.

"Good morning, sleepy head," she chirped into his ear from the tiny speaker. "Time to rise and shine and make yourself look hot for the donors."

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you?" Arthur asked rhetorically.

"You need to be dressed and ready to go in half an hour," Morgana's crisp voice continued, ignoring his protests. "Don't worry about digging out a tux from the bottom of your closet, we'll have hair and wardrobe people at the hotel, just don't make me wait outside the flat while you brush your teeth."

The call cut out before Arthur could utter a scathing response, which was probably just as well since he hadn't come up with one yet. He groaned into his pillow instead.

By the time Morgana's car pulled up to the kerb, Arthur was waiting not-so-patiently outside the door wearing sweats and over-large sunglasses, with his arms folded across his chest.

"God, I thought you were actually going to start tapping your foot at me," was the first thing Morgana said to him, after she'd plucked the sunglasses off his face and tossed them carelessly into the back seat. "I am _five minutes_ late. Thank god for Elena, you look like hell," she added while he sulked in the passenger seat.

"Six thirty," Arthur said darkly, "in the fucking morning. You are twisted, Morgana."

Morgana navigated her way through the early morning traffic with a maximum of speed and a minimum of attention to possible obstructions. Arthur, used to her driving style, blinked sleepily and watched with bemused detachment as his life flashed before his eyes at every near miss with a lorry.

The hotel lobby was deserted when they arrived, save one receptionist at the desk who was making a valiant effort to look perky through her frequent yawns. Morgana ignored the girl entirely and swept on through a door marked "staff only" as if she owned the place — which, come to think of it, she just might; Arthur hadn't checked up on her holdings recently — and into the hotel ballroom.

Here, belying the somnolence of the lobby, there was a flurry of activity as volunteers and charity workers bustled about, festooning the tables and stage with bunches of champagne-coloured tulle. Arthur wished he still had his sunglasses on to shield him from the glaring eagerness that fairly exuded from all the busy bodies around him.

Morgana was off and moving the minute they entered, talking to people with clipboards and mobile phones, and Arthur, left to himself, slunk away to find a quiet corner where he could hide from Elena and her infinite varieties of cummerbund.

The only empty room turned out to be a sort of supply cupboard filled with stacks of catering trays and extra chairs. Arthur collapsed gratefully onto one of these, dug out his phone and a pair of ear buds, and proceeded to ignore the world in favour of Jónsi.

He was roused from his happily oblivious trance — which had been verging nicely towards a nap — by someone exclaiming, "Oh, sorry, didn't know there was anyone in here!"

And then, after a long pause in which Arthur kept his eyes closed and hoped fervently that whoever it was had taken the hint and had the decency to go away, the same voice, which was faintly Welsh, added, "Could you move your foot? I can't get at the chairs."

He cracked one eye open reluctantly and found himself peering up at a skinny dark-haired bloke who was looking annoyed. Arthur made a grand show of moving his foot aside and then went back to his music. As an attempt to tune out further interruptions this was largely unsuccessful, as whatever the fellow was doing seemed to require an inordinate number of grunts and groans.

Arthur opened his eyes again to glare at the intruder, but found him struggling under a ludicrously tall stack of chairs. They were obviously too heavy for him to lift, tottering precariously and looking like they might collapse on him at any moment. Arthur leapt up hurriedly and shoved his phone into a pocket to help steady the chairs, before they could crush anyone.

There was a grunt of acknowledgement from the other side of the stack and together they staggered out into the ballroom, Arthur doing his best to walk backwards without tripping over his own feet.

The stack was pillaged the instant it hit the floor, other scurrying volunteers darting in to grab chairs until there was nothing left between Arthur and this other fellow who had such a gross overestimation of his strength.

"You can go back to skiving off now," the bloke said with a cheerily dismissive wave.

Arthur gaped at him. "I'm not — I was not _skiving_."

"No?" was the reply. "What do you call it when you bunk off to take a nap in the back room while everyone else is working?"

Arthur spluttered with indignation. "Do you have _any_ idea who I am?"

The other bloke appeared to consider this. "A posh, lazy git who can't be bothered to help out?"

"Oh, Merlin, good, you've found him." Morgana's voice broke in upon them. To Arthur, she said, "I see you've been dodging Elena, she's looking for you in despair with a dinner jacket. Merlin, you might want to get in there, too. God knows she'll need time to wrestle with your bird's nest of a head."

She passed on, leaving Arthur and the alleged Merlin shuffling about in mutual embarrassment, like a couple of kids who'd just been told to 'play nice' by the teacher. Arthur noticed belatedly the lack of a name tag on Merlin's shirt.

"So you're not a volunteer, then?" he asked. "I thought with the chairs..."

"Yeah, my friend sort of volunteered me for the auction," said Merlin. "But they didn't need me yet and everyone was so busy I didn't want to just sit aroun— um." Merlin seemed to recall what he had been saying before Morgana's interruption at about the same time Arthur did.

"I'm not a volunteer either," said Arthur hastily. "I mean, I'm not even really supposed to be here yet, only Morgana's obsessed with being ten hours early to everything." He wondered if there was any possible way that didn't sound like a flimsy excuse for hiding in a cupboard. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with hiding in a cupboard. He was probably paying for half this damned event, it wasn't as though he wasn't _contributing_ , but the thought of Merlin trying to pull his own weight — more than his own body-weight in chairs, if it came to that — as well as volunteering for the auction left Arthur feeling... well, a bit of a tit, really.

"You said your friend's put you up for auction?" Arthur asked, just for something to say.

Merlin nodded, looking equally grateful for the topic change. "She works with Morgana, and it sounded like a worthy cause, you know? I suppose it can't be that bad, can it?"

"Oh lord, it's dreadful," Arthur said with feeling, then realized this was probably not the thing to say to someone about to go on the auction block. "I mean, you might think, here's a nice free lunch, and a lot of the girls are hot, but let me tell you, some of them are _scary_ too." He looked Merlin over critically. "You should probably hope for a nice, middle-aged motherly type who'll buy you just to feed you up."

"Er, I'm not—" Merlin said. "Um. Morgana told me the bidders could be limited to men? That's right, isn't it? Not that I'd have anything against lunch with a girl, you understand, but I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea." He said it lightly, but Arthur could see the way he was tensed up anticipating the response.

" _Oh._ " Arthur tried to think of a good way to say 'no, don't worry, I'm queer too' or 'I'm only interested in girls on a part-time basis, myself.' He settled for, "Yes, of course, I'm sure if that's what she said — we don't want anyone to actually _suffer_ for charity. Well. Morgana makes a bit of an exception for me, but that's because we're related. Sometimes I think she'd throw me to any bird — or, or bloke — for twenty pounds." There, that. Implied. Sort of.

Maybe if Arthur gnawed his arm off at the wrist now he could distract them both from the awkwardness. "Wardrobe?" he asked at last, and it was a mark of his desperation that he led the way to Elena's lair. When he risked one backward glance, Merlin was smiling, so it couldn't be too bad.

Elena bore down upon them in a puffy cloud of blond hair and impatience, manhandling both of them towards a garment rack bursting with formal wear.

"And don't come out until you're wearing clothes I don't want to burn. Arthur, that had better not be hair gel I see, we've talked about this."

Arthur thought that criticism was a bit rich coming from someone wearing jeans and a t-shirt with all the useful portions artistically removed, but he took the garment bag she shoved at him anyway and retreated into the little curtained-off portion of the room to change.

He got out of the sweats slowly, abandoning their warmth and comfort with reluctance. When someone pulled open the curtain to join him, Arthur assumed it was Elena come to prod him to hurry up or possibly mock his choice in underwear label, so he ignored the intrusion until someone said, "Which way up does this go?" and found Merlin leaning in to inspect his cummerbund.

Arthur yelped and grabbed at a shirt to cover himself. "Occupied!" he exclaimed. What kind of person walked in on a strange bloke when he was nearly naked, anyway?

"There's nowhere else and I'm not going to ravish you," Merlin said, rolling his eyes and stripping off methodically. Arthur stared at him in astonishment and then had to turn away from the increasing expanse of bare skin.

"I could ravish you!" Arthur objected to the assumption, but then realized how that sounded. "Not that I would ravish you if you begged me to, but if there _were_ any ravishing going on, I am quite as capable of being the one doing the ravishing!"

Merlin was smirking at him. "Don't you want to put some trousers on? It's a bit cold in here."

Arthur, who had, in fact, forgotten his trousers in his indignation, hastily corrected that.

"Are you two done yet?" Elena called into them. "I have other people needing to take their trousers off, you know!"

"Now you understand why I was hiding," Arthur muttered under his breath, once he was certain she was out of range.

"Why are you so afraid of her?" Merlin whispered. "She seems perfectly nice to me."

"You haven't seen her with a pair of hair curlers yet," Arthur said grimly. "And we used to date, sort of. I mean, went out for drinks after uni rugger matches and tried to see who could stay upright longer. And then she discovered hair curlers and other torture devices, and changed to a course in fashion design, and started using me as her personal mannequin." Arthur pulled a face. "I'm lucky I didn't spend my entire third year with blue hair and pinstripe suits to match. She would go through these... _phases_."

"Do not blaspheme against the pinstripes," Elena said. Her voice was coming from immediately on the other side of the curtain and Arthur jumped. "Lest the pinstripes wreak vengeance upon your ill-considered wardrobe. Cover yourselves, I am coming in. I have hair products, and I am not afraid to use them."

"You can't treat me like this!" Arthur protested as Elena wielded a spray bottle and a dangerously spiky comb at him. "I'm your boss!"

"I am a free-lance aesthetics consultant," Elena said, advancing remorselessly and attacking Arthur's lingering bedhead, "and extremely sought-after in my field. Even if you could fire me, Morgana would have your head." Then, after a few extremely uncomfortable minutes of having his hair and clothes tugged and tucked into position, she stood back and nodded with satisfaction.

"You'll do," she said. "Try not to muss yourself up too much before the auction. Remember, if you touch your hair _I will know_ , so don't try anything. And don't lose those braces."

With that, she moved on to Merlin, and began a wrestling match with his hair so vigorous that Arthur wondered with some concern whether it wasn't likely to end with Merlin's hair coming detached from his head altogether. She got one section into place and then had to come back for a second pass when working on the rest put it askew again. She huffed and scowled at Merlin's head in frustration.

"Come back to see me before the auction begins," Elena commanded, "and we will try this again." She tried a last desultory pass of the comb and declared a temporary ceasefire.

"Are you really the boss?" Merlin asked Arthur when Elena had moved on to her next victim, leaving the two of them standing stiffly, trying not to disarrange themselves more than they could help.

"Arthur," he said, sticking out his hand for Merlin to shake. Merlin's hand turned out to be surprisingly warm. "Arthur Pendragon. You may recognize the name from the giant banner hanging out there. Unfortunately Morgana got my name on the letterhead years ago, so now I have to turn up to all these things."

"Oh, _oh,_ " said Merlin, and then recovered himself and added, "I didn't know this charity was run by a lazy git. Maybe I should reconsider volunteering."

Arthur laughed. "I ought to tell Morgana to throw you to the wolves. See how you like being summarily sold to the lowest bidder."

"Are you throwing yourself onto the mercy of the crowd, then?" asked Merlin.

"Me? I'm far too important to be sacrificed," Arthur said. _Or licked,_ he thought.

"Tsk, what kind of an example is that?" Merlin asked. "Shouldn't you be the first item up for bid? You could raise, what, ten? twenty? pounds no problem."

Arthur glared at him.

"Thirty?" said Merlin.

Arthur folded his arms.

"Naw, you're right, that's pushing it, ten pounds is the most we can hope for," said Merlin. "We have to be realistic in these times of stringent economy."

Arthur ran his hands through his hair to stop himself doing something inappropriate, like strangling the merchandise.

Merlin's eyes widened suddenly and Arthur turned to see Elena bearing down on them, murder in her eyes. "If I have to tie your hands behind your back until the event begins, Arthur Pendragon, I swear to god, you will not turn my work into a bird's nest..."

Arthur and Merlin exchanged a look, and fled.

Merlin grabbed his hand somewhere along the way to urge him along, and Arthur didn't object that Elena wasn't following them anymore, because they were running through the ballroom and past Morgana's astonished face, and Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt so — silly. And fun. He never had fun at these things.

Merlin made Arthur hide behind one of the banquet tables while he scouted for further threats and then announced that the coast was clear and, furthermore, provided a prospect of lunch.

"Wait!" said Arthur, catching hold of Merlin's arm again before he could leave their temporary cover. "It could be a trap. Can you see any signs of Morgana hovering around the food?"

"What, like a wasp?" Merlin asked. "No, the only people at the table are some very hungry looking volunteers circling the luncheon meats."

Arthur nodded decisively. He'd seen what a small but determined group of volunteers could do for their cause. They could certainly dispose of greater obstacles than a large plate of cold chicken and do it before less active people had even got to the table.

Arthur motioned furtively to Merlin and then led him over to the lunch table in a casual saunter that said, "Who, me? I'm just headed for that door. Oh, is this food on a table I am passing?" At least, _Arthur_ sauntered in a debonair and care-free manner that exuded confidence; Merlin just went straight at the food.

Arthur was within inches of a plate of drumsticks when Morgana appeared out of nowhere and swatted his hand away before he could reach it.

"That's for the volunteers," she said. "Do you really want grease stains down your front when you're talking to prospective donors this afternoon? You're supposed to be charming them into future support, not frightening them away before the main event."

Arthur could think of a choice word or two for his feelings on playing warm-up act, but Morgana was glaring at him so he reached for an adjacent pile of sandwiches instead.

Morgana slapped his hand again automatically. "Those are for the bachelors."

"'m so gl'd 'm a b'chl'r," said Merlin through a mouthful of cold chicken. Morgana didn't do anything to him, even though he was probably in imminent peril of dropping it down his sleeve from the way he was eating.

" _I'm_ a bachelor," Arthur protested, "and I'm hungry. You've had me trapped in here since an ungodly hour. You can't expect me to go without lunch."

"Oh fine, have a sausage roll," said Morgana, "but if you get crumbs on _anything_ you get to be the one who explains it to Elena and whichever designer she's borrowed your clothes from. Merlin, I know you warned us about your hair, but the cobwebs are overdoing it."

Merlin brushed the spiderweb away sheepishly and ended up with chicken in his hair instead. Arthur was at a loss to know how he'd even managed to collect one when Arthur had been hiding behind the same table and still looked perfectly presentable.

More and more people seemed to be filtering into the ballroom, some of whom Arthur recognized as fellow sacrificial victims from previous years. He traded embarrassed looks with Leon, who had last year had his shirt torn off during an unfortunate disagreement over who had actually won the bidding. Leon seemed to be wearing a full nylon bodysuit under his clothing this time. A few steps behind him —

"Oh good lord, Morgana, _no,_ " said Arthur. "Why would you invite her? After what happened last time..."

"Don't be so childish," Morgana said. She made shooing motions at him. "Go on, the donors are arriving at two, go and practise being gallant until then."

Arthur looked around desperately for help and found Merlin. "I have to look after Merlin," he said, "he'd be absolutely lost without me. Probably crumpled under a heap of chairs in the store room. Calling piteously for help. Expiring slowly from his injuries and lack of sustenance."

Morgana looked supremely unimpressed.

"Oh, I'll be fine, don't worry about me," Merlin said unhelpfully, eyeballing a plate of pickled eggs.

"Go," Morgana repeated and, grudgingly, Arthur did, although not before he had grabbed a plate of chicken as a peace offering. As he walked away he heard a crash and hoped sincerely that it was Merlin being buried under trays of his precious pickled eggs.

Vivian's eyes narrowed at Arthur. "I don't want you _or_ your chicken," she said. "Father says it's your fault we're moving to Switzerland."

Arthur sighed. "It's not my fault he's being audited for 40 years of unpaid taxes. That happens to be illegal in this country."

" _Switzerland,_ " Vivian repeated, balefully.

"I hear they have good skiing—" Arthur grabbed desperately at the nearest person "—don't they, Leon? Tell me, have you met Vivian? Old friend of Morgana's, sure you'll get along. Leon's going to be auctioned off today, aren't you? And I hear he's fond of travel. Weren't you in Switzerland for work last year? You'll have so much to talk about, do excuse me." He backed away slowly as he spoke, handing Leon the plate of chicken in mute apology and leaving the poor man to be transfixed by Vivian's sceptical eyebrow.

"Are you wearing a wetsuit?" she was asking, when Arthur's carefully planned retreat brought him into contact with someone else's foot and he found himself apologizing to Aredian, his least favourite gossip rag reporter.

"Mr. Pendragon," Aredian exclaimed with apparent delight. "How fortuitous. I was hoping to ask you one or two questions about today's event. From the horse's mouth, as it were."

"Ah, well, very busy with — the donors seem to be arriving, I'm afraid I must—" Arthur made apologetic hand movements, trying to edge away, but Aredian insinuated a surprisingly wiry grip around his upper arm to stop him.

"Just one or two questions, for the general interest, I'm sure you'll allow." Aredian was already flicking through a notebook with his other hand. "Will you be contributing... personally... to the auction this year, Mr. Pendragon?" he asked, his voice low and overly intimate, as if sharing a confidence Arthur had never granted him.

"I'm in a —" Arthur winced, remembering, "I've been in a relationship for several months now, I wouldn't be a suitable candidate for the auction this time."

"How strange," said Aredian. He smiled thinly, without much humour. "A little bird told me that relationship had ended recently — in regrettable circumstances."

Arthur cursed inwardly but did his best to plaster on a smile. "I don't know who your sources are, but they must be better than mine."

"If you aren't planning to participate as a bachelor, perhaps you will be bidding on a young lady or — ahem — gentleman?" Aredian gave a leering wink. Arthur wondered, not for the first time, how much involvement the reporter had had in setting the 60 point font headlines declaring Arthur's "coming out" the first and last time he'd tried taking a male date out in public.

"Just here as a representative of the charity," Arthur said with a forced smile. The feel of Aredian's fingers clutched around his bicep were making his skin crawl.

"Oh, but surely it behooves us all to dig deep for such a good cause," Aredian said, and Arthur could practically hear the next words in his head: "especially one that has touched you so nearly."

"I think Mr. Pendragon has already contributed quite enough to this foundation for a lifetime, don't you?" a woman's voice interceded.

"Guinevere, thank god," said Arthur, recognizing his sister's assistant-cum-charity director with a wave of relief. "Where has my infernal sister gone off to?"

"She's overwhelmed with greeting the donors and sent me to fetch you. I'm sorry, sir, but I really must pry him away from you now," she told Aredian, who finally, reluctantly released his hold on Arthur's arm and let Gwen draw him away.

"Guinevere, I could kiss you," Arthur said fervently, "are you sure you wouldn't consider it? I happen to know a quiet closet nearby..."

She wrinkled her nose at him and said, "Sorry, you're still not my type, and Morgana really does want you to meet Lady Catrina."

"Which one is she?" Arthur asked under his breath as they approached where Morgana was holding court amid a gaggle of wealthy patrons.

"The one in all the jewels, old friend of — of your father's," Gwen said.

"Ah good, you found him," said Morgana, flashing a rare, sweet smile at Gwen. "Arthur, this is—"

"Lady Catrina," Arthur stepped in smoothly, "what a delight, Morgana has been telling me all about you."

Lady Catrina, a handsome middle-aged woman, took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip — the sort Arthur associated with businessmen and CEOs — and said, "And she warned me you were a charmer. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Arthur, and I don't just say that because I'm planning to ask your investment advice."

Arthur laughed with pleasant surprise. "Don't watch Morgana's programme, for a start."

Morgana didn't rise to the insult, perhaps because Gwen was busily whispering in her ear.

"And you, my dear?" Lady Catrina turned to address Gwen, who appeared somewhat flustered by suddenly finding herself the centre of attention in the small group. "We weren't properly introduced before."

"Oh, I'm just — um, I'm Morgana's assistant, that's all," said Gwen. "I'm just here to fetch the coffee, really."

"Don't believe a word of it," said Morgana, "Gwen's going to be running the whole bloody charity, soon. She practically organized this entire event herself, I've been running everything off her notes."

Arthur wondered why Morgana never sounded that enthusiastic about praising _him_. Then he had a closer look at the way Morgana's hand was resting oh-so-casually on Gwen's shoulder, anchoring her in the knot of conversants, and decided it was probably because Morgana didn't want to shag him. He shuddered gratefully at the thought.

Gwen's eyes found his in the middle of a long, embarrassed answer about career prospects in the non-profit industry, and Arthur shook his head unrepentantly at the silent plea for rescue from the conversation. She'd had her chance to run away with him earlier. Now she could be social with the rest of them. Arthur turned back to Lady Catrina with a much more genuine smile than he had expected, to ask about her portfolio.

* * *

Arthur didn't think about Merlin again, and had almost forgotten the bachelor with the unruly hair and the open smile until the auction started. If he did occasionally wonder whether Elena had ever managed to tame Merlin's hair, or if the beginning of the donor's luncheon made him think of Merlin putting down his elbow on a stack of serving trays so it collapsed, or if he checked the place cards carefully at his and Morgana's table, to see whether there was anyone named Merlin seated there, it was only a passing thought, because the fellow hadn't made that much of an impression on Arthur.

When the catered lunch had been cleared away, and Guinevere rose to announce the beginning of the auction, Arthur was surprised to find himself fixating on the image of Merlin, wondering when he would appear on the stage, and how he would look under the bright ballroom lights focussed on the makeshift stage.

The most attractive bachelors were usually reserved until near the end of the bidding. It was a carefully balanced art, Morgana had once informed him, with complete aplomb, of timing the most appealing specimens for the moment when the bidders had been warmed up by a bit of healthy competition in the early rounds but not yet worn down or low on cash. One or two prime specimens might get thrown in at the start, just to whet the appetite and encourage higher bids, but the favourites were always saved for later.

Arthur expected someone like Leon or Percival would come up first. They were both traditionally handsome and fit and dutifully brought in over a thousand pounds a head at these events, but they didn't have the impressive titles of some of the other bachelors Morgana had roped into her charitable stunts.

So Arthur was surprised to see Merlin stumble out first — looking as if he had been pushed. Arthur wondered if Morgana's hand had been behind that. But no, Morgana had returned to their table after Gwen's introduction, so she must have some co-conspirator in the wings.

Arthur watched Merlin, even more gawky and wrong-footed than he had seemed before, walk across the tiny ballroom stage in a poor imitation of a catwalk strut, and had to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands. With the way his luck was going today, the moment would be captured on some bored society reporter's camera and end up on the front page of the "culture" section with a headline reading, "Grieving orphan, Arthur Pendragon, carries on the torch of his father's legacy..." or some similar drivel.

So he did his best to watch composedly as Merlin made his painfully inept way across the stage to a half-hearted accompaniment of catcalls from the bidders. They were just getting warmed up, Arthur thought. Like lions sizing up the pickings of the herd before they pounced.

Arthur found he couldn't watch after all and turned his focus to Gwen, who had been caught by surprise by Merlin's hasty entrance on stage and was now stumbling through his biography.

"—six weeks with Fay & Pendragon charitable institutions. This is his first time on auction, so you should take advantage of this excellent..."

Gwen, although predictably flustered, began to slip back into the groove of sales jargon. She wouldn't have been Arthur's choice for an auctioneer at first, if Morgana had ever consulted Arthur on such decisions, but then Gwen had become extraordinarily successful at raising funds once she had got used to the rhythm and style of the auction.

To look at her, you'd think Gwen was far too sweet to ever call out, "Get your genuine hunk of a Pendragon, ladies, do you want to miss your last — maybe your only — chance to purchase a prime specimen of manhood?" But that had been just what she said, while Arthur blushed furiously. "Have you looked at those muscles?" Gwen had asked the audience at large, Vivian's arm already waving enthusiastically in the air. "Talk about your rough, tough, save the world kind of physique. How would you like to have him throw you over his shoulder?"

Gwen had apologized afterward for overdoing it, particularly after his shirt had got ripped off him, but they'd brought in a record of donations that year, so Arthur forgave her in exchange for her penitance while Morgana laughed at him and spent the next month asking him to warn her if he felt the need to throw anyone over his shoulder.

"Now I happen to know," Gwen was saying now in a confidential tone to the audience, "that our lad Merlin here is new in town and looking for someone to show him a good time — oh, pardon me, I'm terribly sorry," Gwen said, shuffling her notes, "looking for someone to show him around town."

She grinned broadly at the audience, getting a few chuckles. Merlin had stopped trying to walk like a model in favour of standing and glaring at Gwen. She threw him a sweet, innocent, utterly disarming smile and then turned to the audience with a surprisingly lewd wink. "And we all know what that means, don't we, ladies and gentlemen?"

Arthur saw Merlin mouth, "I hate you," at her from across the stage, and sympathized. Not that it would save him.

"Bidding starts at one hundred pounds," Gwen announced, "and sorry, ladies, this one's for the boys."

There was a murmur of interest around the room as a few men who hadn't been paying as much attention till then straightened up and began to pay more heed to the proceedings.

A round-faced young man sitting a couple of tables behind Arthur and Morgana stammered out, "A hundred pounds."

Merlin gave the bidder a friendly smile and a little wave and the fellow flushed and slunk down in his seat to avoid the sudden attention of the rest of the audience, but he waved back at Merlin, looking pleased with himself.

They'd probably even make a sweet couple if the young man won the date, Arthur thought. They both seemed gawky and awkward enough to deserve each other's fumbling. Both were woefully unattractive, of course, and they would probably be too flustered to talk until dessert, but it might be sweet.

Arthur grimaced and folded his arms, then remembered he was supposed to be looking photogenic, grimaced more, and decided he didn't care.

At first it seemed likely there would be no further bids, as Arthur watched Gwen talk Merlin up more and more with no result. He was wondering whether it wouldn't be an act of mercy to bid on Merlin himself and put him out of his misery, when a clear, cold voice said, "Five hundred pounds."

Arthur turned around in surprise, along with everyone else, to see Cenred, one of Morgana's half-sister's boy toys of the month smirking at Merlin down the leather-clad legs and the army-issue leather boots he had propped up arrogantly on the seat in front of him. In a poor attempt at a _sotto voce_ , Cenred added, "He would look good on his knees, don't you think, my dear?"

Beside him, Morgana's sister was smirking and playing idly with a leash and collar. Oh no.

Morgause was always trying to petition Morgana to have the event renamed a charity _slave_ auction, supposedly as a joke, but Arthur had never felt comfortable about the way she said it. She had a smirk to match Morgana's when she was plotting evil, or world domination via the stock market. Arthur didn't much like the idea of letting Cenred get his hands on Merlin either.

On the stage, Merlin was looking pale and hopeful towards the young man who had bid on him first, and the bidder was going through his wallet desperately, only to give Merlin an apologetic shrug.

"The bid is five hundred pounds," Gwen was saying, drawing the words out as long as she could and looking around for other prospects. Five hundred pounds wouldn't make for a bad opening bid, but it was in everyone's interests — especially Merlin's — to stir up some other interest.

"Don't let this opportunity slip away," Gwen added. "You won't easily find another man as sweet and funny as Merlin. Anyone would be lucky to have a date with him."

Merlin looked out at the audience in general with a sad, puppy-dog expression that didn't look at all sexy, but did make Arthur think of a poor animal being rained on, and want to find him an umbrella or something to keep him out of the wet. Arthur straightened in his seat. Clearly what was needed was a bold, decisive gesture, to show Cenred that his innuendo and inappropriate propositions were not wanted here.

Before he could speak, another voice called out, "Six hundred pounds," and Arthur was startled to recognize one of their distant cousins — Gawa—Gwaine something-or-other smirking right back at Cenred and Morgause and holding up his own auction number.

Christ, Arthur wondered, was his entire family planning to bid on the poor man? He snuck a covert glance at Morgana just to determine whether she was demonstrating any unwonted heterosexual leanings, but she remained silent and apparently amused by the bidding.

"Seven hundred," said Cenred with a grin that showed more teeth than Arthur thought any one person should reasonably be allowed to keep in their mouth.

"Eight hundred," Gwaine countered just as quickly.

Merlin was standing stock still, his head turning in bewilderment between the bidders as they fought over him. Arthur thought he looked a little happier each time Gwaine bid, but who wouldn't be pleased to be snatched from the jaws of Cenred?

As the size of the bids mounted, Arthur wondered what they were getting so excited over. Merlin was _somewhat_ attractive, perhaps, he supposed, if you looked at him in the right light. He did look rather, well, _fetching_ in his tuxedo. Still fundamentally _ridiculous_ , of course, because his hair was a shambles and Elena was probably going to have a nervous breakdown over it. But still, somehow, _fetching_ , despite the underlying gawky ridiculousness of him.

Arthur tried not to picture Merlin being torn apart by Gwaine, Cenred, and Morgause in a three-way tug of war.

"Eighteen hundred pounds to the... gentleman in leather," Gwen said, making Arthur jump in his seat. He had got distracted staring at Merlin and missed several of the bids.

"Eighteen hundred pounds," Gwen repeated. "Do I hear nineteen hundred? Eighteen hundred pounds to our other bidder — no?"

Gwaine shook his head apologetically, holding up his hands to show there was nothing more he could do. Merlin's face sank and Arthur's heart dropped a little at the sight.

Morgause whispered something into Cenred's ear and he laughed an ugly little laugh.

"Anyone?" Gwen asked. "Nineteen hundred pounds? Eighteen hundred and ten? ...eighteen hundred and one?"

Guinevere was doing her best not to see Cenred without actually being impolite or breaking the rules of the auction. Her eyes skipped glassily past his corner of the room, but at length it became obvious that no one else was bidding, and was forced to pick up the auctioneer’s gavel with obvious reluctance.

She looked apologetically at Merlin. "In that case, to the gentleman wearing all the leather..."

Arthur was just contemplating mounting a rescue operation (maybe they could hide in that cupboard until Cenred gave up and went home) when a voice near the back called out, "Nineteen hundred," and Merlin's expression changed from worried to relieved in a flash.

Arthur frowned and twisted round in his seat to see who had made the bid. Following the line of Merlin's gaze, he recognized Lancelot, one of the charity's up-and-coming employees, with his arm still raised to bid. What the hell was an employee doing bidding on one of the bachelors? Arthur thought in annoyance.

A traitorous voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Morgana said, "Supporting a charity he believes in with his own hard-earned money?" but it was over-ruled by Arthur's own voice which burst out very loudly to say, "Ten thousand pounds."

Everyone in the hall turned to stare at him. Including Merlin, who looked particularly flabbergasted. Arthur recalled, vaguely, that the bidding had been considerably lower before he spoke. He had been thinking, so far as he had been thinking at all, about making it clear to Cenred and any other such unwholesome bidders that Merlin was _not_ available for their little whims... but even if he had wanted to make a definitive statement, he probably hadn't needed to be quite so definitive about the extra zeros.

 _Well, was there a rule stopping Arthur from contributing to his own charity?_ he thought hard at the crowd. He pointedly did _not_ look at Morgana, because he could picture her raised eyebrows all too clearly already. Gwen cleared her throat and said faintly, "Ten thousand pounds, to Mr. Pendragon. Do I hear, uh — any further bids?"

Cenred's corner of the room was noticeably silent, and Arthur's bid seemed to have stunned the rest of the room, so Guinevere went through the motions of saying, "Once — twice — sold to Arthur Pendragon for ten thousand pounds. Please come see us regarding details of your date at the end of the event. Our next bachelor is a long-time volunteer at our children's charities—"

Merlin staggered off stage and out of sight, and Arthur spent the rest of the bidding trying to look very absorbed in the auction and not to think too much about what had just happened.

Morgana, surprisingly, refrained from comment until the auction was over, and then only leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Doesn't it feel good to get into the spirit of things?" before whisking herself away backstage.

Arthur fully intended to follow her back, and talk to some of the bachelors to thank them for their time. Amongst other things, he wanted to reassure Leon that Vivian would probably be on her best behaviour after last year, and that even if she wasn't, she would be leaving the country soon anyway.

He made it all of two steps into the backstage dressing room, where Elena was holding court, retrieving the loaned tuxedos and jealously inspecting them for damage, and then he came face to face with Merlin.

Merlin was looking around himself in dazed confusion, efficiently stripped out of his borrowed clothes but without having located his own yet, and talking to Gwen, when he caught sight of Arthur, and his eyes grew comically wide.

"Oh!" he said, and grasped after the first thing available to cover himself, which unfortunately turned out to be his discarded cummerbund. It didn't cover much. Arthur did his best to keep his eyes on Merlin's face rather than the very noticeable expanse of bare skin beneath it.

"Thanks for the, you know—" Merlin gestured inexactly in the direction of the stage and almost hit a passing volunteer.

Arthur took his arm and steered them out of the flow of traffic. "It was nothing," he said. "Pocket change, really."

Merlin's eyes went, if possible, even wider. "You carry that much money around in your pocket?"

"Well, I have very large — uh, pockets." Arthur could feel himself blush furiously. Out of the corner of the eye he spotted Gwen muffling a giggle and silently took back every good thing he had ever thought about her. "I thought that you were worth — uh, it was worth — it's a very worthy cause."

Merlin's nipples had pebbled in the cool air. Arthur wondered if he knew. Then he realized his eyes had begun to drift downwards and he forced them up again.

Merlin was looking amused at him. "Aren't you going to get undressed?" Merlin asked and Arthur gaped at him.

"Not before the first date!" he exclaimed, and then noticed belatedly that they were standing next to the garment rack onto which someone had tidied his street clothes. Of course Merlin expected him to change, that was what everyone was back here for. But— "No, I have to — goodbye — donors."

"I suppose I'll see you later, then," Merlin said, and he might have been smiling, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to look.

Arthur nodded, wordlessly, and fled.

It wasn't that he was a coward, he told himself, he was simply taking Morgana's words to heart about his responsibility to be charming to the donors.

He rather hoped to find Lady Catrina again, and to thank her for her contributions (although he didn't plan to think about what she was going to do with three bachelors at once), but ran afoul of Aredian instead. He gritted his teeth and nodded through the man's remarks about his... enjoyment of the event.

"And does this more _personal_ investment in the proceedings represent a new stage in your involvement with your fath—sorry, your _sister's_ charity?" Aredian was asking, his permanently knowing look fixed on his face.

"What?" Arthur grasped after his usual pat response and found it had deserted him. "Personal — I don't — never met this — supporting the cause—"

"Ah, so you can confirm that this was done as a publicity stunt?" Aredian jumped in. "A bidding tactic, designed to drive up the prices this year? Is it true that this year's donations are already being calculated at 150% of last year's total?"

Arthur had stopped paying attention to the numbers once he'd finished making a spectacle of himself, but now he thought about it the numbers had seemed a little higher — his mind grasped at the easy familiarity of the figures and ran swiftly over them in his mind.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I think I may speak for all of us here when I say that we have been very pleased by the support shown — the generosity — digging deep —" he fell back onto a familiar pattern of meaningless platitudes.

Aredian was nodding along. "And would you say that this stunt will more than cover its costs? Or will the charity in fact pay the ten thousand pounds to itself?"

"I would never dream of using charity funds to cover my own bids," Arthur said stiffly. It would never have occurred to him to do so, anyway, but that was just the slimy way Aredian's mind worked.

"Ah, so it was a personal bid you placed on the young man," Aredian instantly jumped on his words, twisting them around.

"Look, I don't know what you think you're implying here," Arthur said furiously, his cheeks flushing despite themselves, "but I take a _personal_ interest in the charity, not in — in individual volunteers."

There, that sounded respectable enough.

"So this latest display has nothing to do with a sense of guilt — not contributing as much to your father's memory as your sister has over the years?"

Arthur's jaw clenched convulsively as he bit back a very rude and explicit response. "Excuse me," he said shortly, and without any further attempts at politeness he shouldered his way out through the crowd, not stopping until he reached the street outside and gasped in the fresh air.

He was still in his borrowed tuxedo, but he loosened the collar and shoved the bow tie into his pocket. Elena would be out for his blood later for running off with a rental, but he decided even she would forgive him, given the circumstances. He made a beeline back towards his own block of flats, ignoring pedestrians and traffic alike along the city streets until he was back on familiar ground, stepping through his own front door, shedding jacket and shirt in a rumpled heap on the floor and collapsing onto his sofa determined to forget at least forty-seven out of the last forty-eight hours.

* * *

He managed to miss the headlines for almost three days, until his personal assistant/self-styled publicist, Cedric, took it upon himself to forward scans of the relevant articles to Arthur's phone, along with congratulations on the amount of coverage the event had received.

Arthur sent an e-mail back firing him, not really expecting it to stick, since Morgana would probably rehire him by the end of the day, and stared glumly at the title on page one of the society section of the Guardian: "Pendragon heir steps into father's shoes — love for charity." It was the least offensive, and didn't make him as nauseous as the Sun.

Later the same day, he got a text from Sophia saying, "Didn't take you long, did it?" which made Arthur feel worse than all the headlines combined. After that he turned his phone off altogether, found an accounting ledger that required imaginary numbers to understand, and tried to pretend he had a halfway normal life.

* * *

Arthur had every intention of informing Guinevere at the first opportunity that he had changed his mind about the date he had won. The charity could keep the money, of course, but it would be more trouble than it was worth to go through with it. With his luck Aredian would find out where he and Merlin were having dinner and turn up with a photographer, or perhaps Cedric would spare the man the trouble and simply send out engraved invitations to their date.

He said as much to Morgana when she asked him why it had been the better part of a month since the auction and he still hadn't given Gwen his availability for the dinner.

"If you hadn't changed the password on your calendar I could set it up for you," Morgana told him over coffee. "I don't know why you're making this so difficult."

"I've had a lot of work — it is tax season, you know," Arthur said, perhaps a touch defensively.

Morgana looked unimpressed. "If you don't want the nice dinner with the nice young man, no one's obligating you. Just because you spent ten thousand pounds to get his attention — what did your accountant think of that, by the way?"

"I'm my accountant," said Arthur, "and it's a charitable contribution, tax deductible and thoroughly responsible."

"If you say so," said Morgana, who seemed to have stopped listening anyway and was eyeing Arthur's coffee avidly.

"Stop trying to nick my caffeine," Arthur said, cradling his cup protectively. "I thought you had a direct line to the kitchens here, why don't you get one of your lackeys to brew you some more?"

"Gwen's cut me off," Morgana half-wailed. "I'm not allowed caffeine after seven o'clock and somehow she got at the baristas at every one of my usual haunts." Morgana leaned in and lowered her voice to a tone normally reserved for discussing stock market secrets and corporate hit squads. "I think she may have handed out flyers with my picture and some kind of warning — 'this woman is extremely dangerous, do not attempt to administer life-saving beverages'."

Arthur snickered into his coffee, taking a long, deliberate, taunting sip. Morgana whimpered.

"Sleeping any better?" Arthur asked. The circles under Morgana's eyes did look a little lighter, now he came to think of it, but for all he knew that could be the work of a new concealer.

"A little," Morgana said, "but that probably has more to do with the sex."

Arthur choked. When he'd stopped seeing stars, Morgana was smirking at him.

"Oh, didn't I mention?" she asked, all false innocence. "We had quite the interesting day after you ran away from the auction. I hope you weren't wanting your sunglasses back, by the way, they were still in the back seat, and I'm afraid we were a little too busy to be bothered—"

Arthur put his hands over his ears and began humming to himself, trying unsuccessfully to block out Morgana's voice.

"Not sure how much it has to do with cutting out the caffeine, really, but you can't argue with the incentives," Morgana said reflectively. "It could be the increased exercise, I suppose, and then Gwen does this thing with her tongue, I swear it's better than sleeping pills at knocking me out — and, well, more fun obviously."

Arthur gave up on humming and settled for slumping down over the table, slowly banging his forehead as if that could erase the unwanted images.

"God, Morgana," he said, "there are some things I never want to know about your sex life, and one of those is that you _have_ a sex life."

"Poor, sensitive flower," she said, patting his hand with false sympathy and trying to sneak his coffee while she was at it. He spotted the move from a corner of his eye and retreated with it to a safe distance.

"I am glad you're sleeping better," Arthur said at last, when he was sure the uncomfortable revelations were finished.

Morgana waved off his concern, the way she did with all concerns. Gwen must have had the persistence of a battering ram to get through her defences.

"We need to talk about your date," she said instead. "Your _ten-thousand-pound_ date. Will you be wanting the standard three-course champagne dinner at Simpson's or were you just going to take him out for a movie and hold hands over a bag of crisps? Inquiring minds want to know. Also Gwen may have a conniption soon if you don't stop dodging her calls. She needs to tie up the loose ends for this auction before she can start organizing the next one."

Arthur felt a twinge of guilt over the number of missed calls he'd accumulated.

"Right, I will," he said. "I'll call her back."

"Oh good." Morgana smiled. "And then poor Merlin can stop waiting by the phone every night."

"What?" said Arthur. "What do you mean, waiting—"

But Morgana was already standing up and dropping coins on the table for her bill.

"One cup of herbal tea, wasn't it?" she said. "Hardly seems worth it."

"What do you mean, waiting by the phone?" Arthur called after her as she walked away.

A minute later, Arthur's phone beeped and he dug it out to find a message from Morgana. "Merlin: 07700 900319 CALL HIM"

* * *

Arthur stared at the number for half an hour, put away his phone, took it out again, thumbed through his contacts, found Gwen's number, put his phone away again, took it out, opened Morgana's text again, tapped nervously on the edge of the phone, and then noticed he'd hit "call" accidentally and scrambled to try to cancel it.

"Shit," he said, when someone picked up immediately at the other end. Well, at least that answered the question of whether Merlin had been waiting by the phone.

"Merlin's phone," said a voice on the end. It didn't sound quite like Arthur remembered, though the accent was right.

Arthur gulped. "Merlin?"

"No, sorry, Merlin's come down with a touch of bubonic plague," the voice informed him, sounding far too chipper about it. "We expect his demise imminently."

"Aah — Will — stop taking the — give it — here, you ass," came a voice in the background.

There was the sound of a scuffle and then Merlin's voice came on, overly nasal and muffled.

"'m coming!" he exclaimed. "It's just my berk of a roommate hid the phone 'cause he's an interfering git and thinks I'm ill, but I'm on my way, honest. I'll be in soon, one hour, tops, Gwen, I promise!"

"No, you bloody well will not," said Arthur. "You sound like you've swallowed a cactus."

"...Gwen?" said Merlin. "Sorry, there's a sort of ringing in my ears. Who did you say you were?"

Arthur felt, indignantly, that someone waiting for his call ought to know who he was — or at least not to confuse him with Gwen.

"This is your boss, he said shortly, "telling you to get some rest and if I hear about you bringing your bubonic-plague-ridden carcass into work I'll have you sacked."

"Who? What?" said Merlin. "You don't sound like my boss."

"Your boss's boss, then," said Arthur shortly. "Arthur Pendragon. Remember?"

"Oh," said Merlin quietly, "OK. Um."

Arthur waited impatiently for some hint of recognition, but the next thing he heard was a faint click. Looking down at his phone incredulously confirmed that, yes, Merlin had just hung up on him.

"I didn't want to ask you and your sad, infected arse out anyway," he told the phone. And then turned the ringer volume up in case Merlin came to his senses and tried to call him back.

* * *

Arthur decided to wait a few days before telling Morgana he'd called, because he might have called Merlin right away but there was no need for Morgana to know that. Then he waited a few more days, just for good measure, as if the conversation had slipped his mind after it happened.

"Oh, by the by," he said to Morgana casually over the phone, after inventing an unrelated excuse to call, "that friend of Guinevere's, Merlin, wasn't it? He doing all right? Seemed ill when I tried ringing him the other day."

There was an ominous silence on the other end of the phone, and then Morgana asked, "Just the other day, was it?"

Arthur frowned. He couldn't actually see Morgana's lips twitching over the phone, but he would have bet all of his stock options that they were.

"Yes, that was why you gave me his number, wasn't it? So I'd call?" Arthur asked sarcastically.

"That was a twenty-four hour bug," Morgana told him, and now she definitely sounded amused, damn. "Gwen came down with the same thing, practically half their office did, apparently. And _that_ was over a week ago."

Arthur scowled silently over the line.

"This is sad, Arthur," she continued when it became clear he wasn't going to respond. "You know he _has_ to go out with you, right? You're not actually risking rejection here."

"I know that," Arthur snapped. "But it's not — how would you feel if Guinevere was only dating you because she works for you?"

"Oh, Arthur," she said, and it sounded exasperated, but fond. "I have it on fairly good information that Merlin wouldn't kick you out of bed, charity or no charity, although you didn't hear that from me. Now either take the poor boy out on a date, or I'll tell Gwen to book you a honeymoon trip to Niagara Falls and have your publicist leak it to the papers."

Arthur cringed. "You wouldn't."

"Why not?" Morgana asked. "It would be quite funny, now I come to think of it, I wonder why I didn't do that years ago."

"Fine!" Arthur said. "Fine, you don't need to exaggerate everything, I'll do it."

"The honeymoon trip?" Morgana asked sweetly.

"If you so much as breathe a word of this to Cedric—" Arthur said.

"Oh, calm down," Morgana told him, "you're not being pursued by wild beasts, it's all right to breathe occasionally. I'll set things up, since it's so difficult — no, not a honeymoon trip, honestly."

She hung up, and in ten minutes he had a date, time, and address, and a reminder that it was never to late for Niagara Falls, which was how Arthur ended up on Merlin's doorstep without a plan, without any idea of what they were doing, and without a phone, because Morgana had found time to steal it beforehand — presumably in case Arthur decided to try to call and cancel.

On the bright side, it seemed the address Morgana had given him corresponded to a perfectly ordinary London flat, above a chemist's, and not anywhere horrifying.

The door was opened by a scruffy young man, about Merlin's age, but with scruffy brown hair and a t-shirt that read, "Socialists do it for the Marx."

"You the toff?" he asked Arthur, then disappeared without waiting for a response to bang on an inner door, shouting, "Merlin, your Capitalism Ken doll is here."

Arthur followed him into the tiny flat uncertainly. He had to stop after a few feet to keep himself from tumbling right over their sofa and out the window.

"'s an accountant," Merlin's muffled voice said through his bedroom door, "not the Anti-Christ, Will."

"Don't you own the largest charitable corporation in the UK?" Will asked Arthur, arms crossed critically, as if Arthur had walked in and taken off his trousers in their sitting room.

"It's a non-profit," Arthur said, feeling wrong-footed. "We support medical research, and compassionate care for the under—"

"Hah," Will snorted derisively. "Charities are nothing but an analgesic for the conscience of the upper classes."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur said, bristling. "So we shouldn't fund medical research?"

"The only responsible way to fund social institutions is through the rigorous taxation of corporations," Will said. "You can't expect to defeat poverty and other social ills by perpetuating the myth of class entitlement to common property. Have him back by eight."

He disappeared through a further door, that slammed behind him.

"Sorry," said Merlin, emerging and wrestling his way into a hideous blue jumper as he closed the door to his room, catching his sleeve on the door jamb in the process. "Will's a bit — well, he's Will. He's fine when you get to know him —" he untangled himself from the door handle "— sort of. Ready to go?"

"Is that what you're going to wear?" Arthur asked, staring at the now even worse-fitting jumper. It was the same outfit Merlin had been wearing the morning they met, only now it looked like it had spent a few weeks of quality time becoming acquainted with the bottom of a laundry pile. Arthur wondered if the jumper had even been washed since then. "You do own other clothes, don't you?"

"Did you come here just to insult my wardrobe?" Merlin asked. "Because no one warned me to expect the fashion police."

"Ha! Hardly, it wouldn't be worth the effort," Arthur said. "No, Morgana's blackmailed me into taking you out."

Merlin's jaw tightened. "I see. Look, I don't know what Gwen's told you, but I only agreed to the auction for charity, so why don't you just forget it? Go spend your evening with someone with more dress shirts. I'm sure there are plenty of things I can think of I'd rather be doing too."

He squeezed past Arthur and held the door to the flat open pointedly.

"You can't throw me out," Arthur exclaimed, "I _bought_ you!"

"Offer's expired," Merlin said tersely. "It was printed on the back of the coupon, good for one month or until you started acting like a prat."

"But Morgana said — I had a plan," said Arthur, feeling aggrieved. Not that it was much of a plan, but it definitely involved getting farther than the front door.

"Oh?" Merlin asked, not looking terribly impressed. "Did it involve being rude about my wardrobe?"

"No, it was just — you'll be cold!" Arthur said in a fit of inspiration. "We're going to do a walking tour of the London sights, maybe take some in from the top of a bus, and you'll need a proper coat on."

"A bus tour?" Merlin asked. "Are we pretending to be American tourists?"

"I thought, what with you being new in town—" Arthur began.

"I was new in town a month ago," said Merlin, "when we were supposed to be doing this."

"You can't have covered the whole of London in a few weeks. You've probably found all the crap places. I'll take you to the places _Londoners_ go."

"Such as?" Merlin asked.

"West Kensington," Arthur tried at random.

"Been there," Merlin said.

"The Victoria and Albert," Arthur suggested.

"There too," said Merlin, "first week in London. And that's on all the tourist maps."

"Regent's Park, and the Beatles store, and 221B Baker Street."

"Done those, they were in a pamphlet at the train station," Merlin said.

"The London Eye?" Arthur asked.

Merlin looked at him askance "...isn't that about the most touristy thing in London?"

"Not when you go with a Londoner," Arthur said, "I'll give you the Londoner's bird's-eye-view tour of the city."

Merlin shrugged, which was the most enthusiastic response Arthur had got so far, so he bustled Merlin out the door while he could.

"Is that seriously what you're wearing?" he asked at the top of the stair.

"It's not too late for me to slam the door in your face," Merlin warned him.

"It's cold outside, honestly! You should fetch a coat — you do _own_ a coat, don't you?" Arthur asked.

Merlin glared. "Yes, mum. And I'll be fine. We are used to a bit of cold where I come from, you know. Why do Londoners overreact so much at a bit of a cold snap?"

He did fish a scarf out from behind the door to the flat, though, before they went out. It was an ugly red square of fabric and looked as if it might have enjoyed a former life as one of Merlin's unfortunate shirts, but Merlin tied it rebelliously around his neck and glared a challenge at Arthur to comment on it, so Arthur let it be.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Merlin said, using Arthur as a shield against the wind that had picked up while they stood in line for the London Eye. "Wouldn't it be simpler to come back in a week, which is when we'll get to the front anyway? I don't even want to see London from a giant Ferris wheel, why are we still waiting?"

"Because I bought you," Arthur protested, "and you have to do what I want on the date."

"You keep saying that," Merlin pointed out, "but all you bought was one date, and I'm pretty sure Gwen said I couldn't be made to do anything against my will."

"But think of the children," Arthur said.

"I thought this was for medical research?" Merlin asked. "You do know what your own charity does, don't you?"

"Then think of the children who need medical research," Arthur said. "Wouldn't you feel like an ass for depriving children of ten thousand pounds, just because you were too stubborn to enjoy yourself?"

"Wouldn't _you_ feel like an ass for taking the money back because I wouldn't hold your hand on a great big Ferris wheel?" Merlin countered, sticking his hands under his arms to warm them.

"Fine!" Arthur said. "You don't have to go on the stupid Ferris wheel — if you don't _want_ a native Londoner's guide to London and you want to get lost on the tube and wind up sleeping in Charing Cross station because you can't find your way home and—"

"Oh, fine!" Merlin exclaimed, "but I'm not going to hold your hand."

Later, stuck at the top of the wheel due to unexpected mechanical failings, Arthur said, "Shut up, this is not my fault. This _never_ happens."

Merlin patted his hand consolingly and ended up forgetting to let go. Arthur found himself faintly disappointed when they got the ride working again.

* * *

They wandered back via side-roads and alleys, Arthur trusting to Merlin's lack of familiarity with the London streets to allow him to lead them round in giant circles, missing the entrance to Merlin's street several times while he tried to think of an excuse to extend the evening. The lit window of a chocolate shop beckoned and Arthur pointed it out.

Merlin looked pathetically grateful at the suggestion, hunkering down in his useless jumper and shivering.

"I _told_ you it was cold," Arthur said.

Merlin scowled and pretended not to be shaking like a leaf. "We don't have to go in, I'm fine."

"Oh, I think we do. In fact, I think _you_ ought to buy _me_ a hot chocolate," said Arthur. "After all, I have paid for everything else."

"The London Eye was only twenty pounds!"

"Yes, but it took ten thousand pounds just to convince you to go out with me," Arthur pointed out.

"A decision which I am regretting more every minute that you deny me basic sustenance. You are _such_ a crap date," Merlin said through chittering teeth. Arthur winced. It was like listening to ice cubes.

" _I'm_ a crap date?" Arthur asked incredulously. "I can't believe I spent ten thousand pounds to get whined at about hot chocolate because you were too stubborn to put on a proper coat."

"I don't _have_ a proper coat, all right?" Merlin admitted. "Will you let it go now, and come inside? It's bloody freezing out here."

"Oh," said Arthur, abashed, and led the way inside. He asked for extra chocolate shavings on top of Merlin's cup, by way of apology.

* * *

"What are you doing working at the charity, anyhow?" Arthur asked him, while Merlin wrapped himself around his cocoa like he was trying to leech all the heat out of it in one go. "Lancelot I can see, he's practically built to champion lost causes, but you—"

Merlin shrugged. "Most of my job is handing out flyers and selling buttons. But it's not a bad cause to be working for, and it's a job, you know? I was new in town and working for a family friend in a chemist's that was sort of crap, and not much chance of doing better, because the most I could do was push a broom around and wash the counters. And then I met Gwen in the shops and she mentioned they were looking for someone to hand out flyers, so..."

He stirred his chocolate with a finger, absent-mindedly and added, "It's not as if it would be a bad life ambition, working there, if I were like Gwen and wanted to organize things, but as far as I'm concerned, it pays the rent. How about you, then?" Merlin asked. "What's your reason for your work?"

"I don't really — it's my family's — Morgana's the one who runs the charity, really—" Arthur said. He supposed he'd asked for it, bringing up the subject, but he found with a pit of dread in his stomach that he didn't want to start talking about his personal losses on a first date — and that he _was_ thinking of this as a first date, and didn't want to say anything that would send Merlin a hint to back off, in case he stayed backed off.

"I thought you were an accountant," Merlin said, frowning. "Gwen said—"

Arthur breathed a little more easily, a constriction around his chest that he hadn't noticed building during their conversation suddenly released.

"Yes, of course," said Arthur. "Only so many people assume I run the charity with Morgana — not that she does either, full-time, only some of the fundraisers — but I'm not involved at all, really, except on paper. Most of what I do is accounting, working freelance, balancing books for small businesses without their own financial departments, that sort of thing."

Arthur waited for the familiar exclamation of surprise, the one he usually got for not living up to his father's name, synonymous with CEO to so many people in the business world, but Merlin was simply nodding and sipping his chocolate. Maybe he just didn't know. Or didn't care. It was a surprisingly pleasant thought.

At the door, he offered Merlin his coat, feeling ridiculously gallant about it, but remembering the way Merlin had shivered against him in the line for the Eye and determined not to cause Merlin another round of bubonic plague. Merlin seemed amused at the gesture, but not too much to accept.

The minute they stepped out of doors again, an icy wind that Arthur could've sworn hadn't been there before sliced into him through his remaining layers of clothing. He held out the length of a few more shops before his teeth started chattering.

"Take it back," Merlin said, starting to take off coat immediately. Arthur pinned his arms to his sides to stop him taking them out of the sleeves.

"Don't even think about it, you'll catch pneumonia," Arthur said through teeth clenched to stop them rattling.

"Or you will," said Merlin. "Is that better somehow?"

"I have a much more rugged physique," said Arthur. "I can withstand colder temperatures."

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Merlin fished his hideous scarf out from under the coat collar and tied it around Arthur's neck.

It was much warmer than it looked, although Arthur felt it shouldn't have been allowed to touch his cashmere jumper on fashion principles. He ignored the fact that that thought sounded suspiciously like something Elena would have said.

Arthur suddenly realized that they were standing quite close, that he still held Merlin's arms pinioned between his, and Merlin was still holding onto the scarf, almost clutching at Arthur's neck. All it would take would be for Arthur to lean in a little, tighten his hold on Merlin into an embrace—

He coughed and stepped back, already missing the heat of Merlin's body and the buffer it provided against the wind. Merlin stepped back into his space almost immediately and claimed the kiss anyway, quick and chaste in the cold.

"You're freezing," Merlin said, low and serious. They were close enough now for Arthur to feel the warmth from a puff of his breath before it was stolen by the wind.

Arthur's teeth chattered traitorously. "Dd-dd-on't bb-b-b-be rr-r-r-r-ridicc-c-c-ul-l-lous," he said. "I'm p-p-p-per-f-ff-ec-cctly fine."

"We could stand here and argue about it," Merlin said, lips almost brushing his cheek, "or you could come up to my flat, where it's nice and warm. Purely in the interest of avoiding pneumonia."

"C-c-c-congratulations, Merlin," Arthur shivered out, ignoring the urge to lean in closer, to close the distance between them standing out on the high street — "that's the first decent idea you've had tonight."

* * *

They stumbled up the stairs to Merlin's flat. Arthur's hands had crept inside Merlin's pockets, at first to hide away from the cold, and then because they liked being there. It made the ascent more awkward, but Arthur reasoned they had been _his_ pockets before he had leant them to Merlin. Besides, Merlin's hand kept creeping into Arthur's back pocket, too, and _he_ didn't have the excuse of avoiding frostbite.

Merlin let go of Arthur reluctantly to find his keys when they reached the door. Arthur crowded up against his back, trying to rub his nose against the soft, feathery hair at the nape of Merlin's neck, while Merlin laughed and flinched away from the icy touch.

"Cold!" he gasped. "Keep your icicle face to yourself!" And then the door gave, and they were tumbling over the threshold, tripping over each other's limbs as they entered the darkened flat.

Arthur pushed his coat back off Merlin's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and kicking it out of the way carelessly while he attacked Merlin's mouth at last. Merlin's lips were cold, and chapped, but his tongue swept out, wet and slick against Arthur's, and Arthur would have happily crawled into the heat of his mouth if he could.

Merlin seemed to be doing his best to do the same, pushing eagerly against Arthur until he took a step back to brace himself and hit the wall of the narrow entrance to the flat.

"Fingers!" Merlin exclaimed as Arthur worked his way through the layers of clothing, seeking underneath jumper and shirt for bare skin. Merlin let out something very like a giggle.

"What are you, ticklish?" Arthur asked, far too charmed by the idea. He ran his fingers up Merlin's sides, trying to provoke the same little sound, but Merlin just shivered and pressed closer.

"No, I just don't appreciate being groped by ice cubes," Merlin said against his mouth, and then Arthur was getting lost again in the feel of Merlin's lips against his.

"A bloody _month_ ," Merlin added, talking through the kiss, "and Gwen said you'd just been dumped, so I was _patient_ , but bloody hell—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Arthur asked, and then, instead of waiting for an answer, sealed their mouths together and swallowed the sounds.

Arthur was just deciding that maybe there were more comfortable places for snogging than propped up against a wall, when lights flicked on in the flat, and Merlin's flatmate was regarding them with a distinctly unamused expression.

"What kind of time do you call this?" Will asked Arthur. "And _you_ , if you're going to come back here for a shag, you could at least be quieter about it."

Merlin flushed bright red. "We weren't—"

He made to move away from Arthur a bit, but Arthur was having none of it. He held onto Merlin's hips to keep him anchored, and glared steadily at Will. If he could have killed by will-power alone, Merlin would have been looking for a new flatmate by now.

"Keep it down, is all I'm saying," Will said, not looking at all repentant, " _some_ of us have to work in the morning."

"Jesus, Will, do you mind?" asked Merlin, still looking rather flushed. It was a good look on him, Arthur thought, even though he wasn't in the ideal situation to appreciate it at the moment. Spread out against a pillow, with Arthur over him and no flatmates to interrupt, now — that was the sort of thought that might make it impossible for Arthur to leave tonight.

Will slouched, disappearing back into his room with an emphatic thud of the door.

Merlin slumped against Arthur's chest. "You know, he's been my best friend since we were three? But sometimes I really hate that guy."

"Do you want me to go?" Arthur asked, restraining his hands, which wanted to slip back over Merlin's arse, pull Merlin farther into him.

"No," Merlin whispered. Then he took a deliberate step away, regret written all across his face. "But it is late, so we probably should—"

Arthur claimed another kiss, dragging it out greedily before he let his hands drop, releasing Merlin.

"Another time," Arthur said, "I'll—"

"Yes," said Merlin.

"—call you," Arthur finished.

He got halfway down the stairs before he remembered his coat, and turned to go back. Then he decided the cold might not be such a bad idea just now, besides, it was an excuse to come by again, wasn't it?

He changed his mind again, shivering in the window outside while he tried to hail a taxi, but by then the upstairs lights had flicked out again, and it seemed easier just to wait.

* * *

Arthur found his phone propped up on the kitchen table when he got home, with his home screen changed to a picture of Niagara Falls and a single message from Morgana: _Well?_

He slumped down into a chair, and sat for a while paging through his phone contacts, hovering over Merlin's name each time he scrolled past it. He thought about calling Morgana to inform her that she could call off the blackmail plans. She would almost certainly still be up, probably prowling restlessly around her house, or doing endless reams of paperwork that anyone else would have handed off to her an assistant, or left till the morning.

He could call one of his mates from uni — one of the ones who was always up for a pub crawl, any hour of the day or night, working week no obstacle — but the very thought of a crowded, noisy pub was giving Arthur a headache already.

Then, with a sigh of resignation, he flicked back to the number he'd known he was going to call from the moment his foot left Merlin's doorstep, and hit the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

"I reckon you owe me more than one evening," he said when someone picked up after the first ring. He hoped it wasn't Will. "Let's be honest, here, my bid was well over the going rate, and you still owe me an enormous debt of gratitude for saving you from the evil clutches of Cenred."

"Maybe my memory's gone a bit hazy," Merlin told him, sounding perfectly awake, "seeing as it took you a _whole month_ to ask me out, but didn't you outbid _Lancelot_ for me?"

"For rescuing you from Lancelot, then," Arthur said. "He could have had devious designs on your honour."

"You know Lancelot is straight, right?" Merlin asked, laughter in his voice. "And a friend of mine? I really didn't need rescuing from _Lancelot_."

Arthur huffed into the phone. "I don't need your permission to rescue you, Merlin."

"Right," said Merlin, voice heavily laced with sarcasm, "even when I don't actually need rescuing?"

"You always need rescuing, Merlin," Arthur told him, "from yourself if nothing else, not to mention your pneumonia-provoking wardrobe. Did you intend to steal my coat? I suppose it could be viewed as a charitable donation—"

"You are so full of it," said Merlin, but Arthur thought he sounded more amused than anything. "And next time we're going somewhere indoors, and I'm sure Morgana said you had a car, so there's no need to drag me around London on foot."

Arthur grinned into the phone. "You know, you're far more trouble than you're worth."

* * *

One morning a few weeks later, Arthur's phone rang obscenely early, which could only mean it was Morgana. Arthur ignored it in favour of burrowing further down into the blankets. The call was followed after a minute by a text at which Arthur stared blearily until it began to resolve itself into words. Then he sat bolt upright, drawing a murmur of protest from the blankets beside him.

A hand emerged from the rumpled bed clothes and pulled Arthur back down with a noise of complaint.

"This has to be some kind of a joke," Arthur said, still staring at the screen of his phone in disbelief.

"Wha?" Merlin asked, the words muffled against Arthur's shoulder. The top of his head, warm and sleep-tousled, poked out from the bed covering. He squinted up at Arthur groggily.

"Morgana's holding another auction already?" Arthur read off the date in dawning horror. "Doesn't she understand that people need time to recover from that sort of trauma?"

"Hmph," Merlin said, and flumped down onto Arthur's chest. "'s not all bad, th'auctions 'n stuff."

"Well, I'm not going this time," Arthur said. "And you should stop taking her calls. And ignore any texts. In fact, block Morgana's number altogether. I don't trust her, she'll try to find some way to rope us into it again."

"But I was looking forward to bidding on you this time," Merlin objected.

"You couldn't afford me," Arthur told him. "I'm extremely expensive. You'd probably get turned away at the door for lack of funds."

"'s all right," Merlin said, "my boyfriend can cover it."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him, rather ineffectively, as he was still using Arthur as a human pillow.

"You want to buy a date with your boyfriend's money?"Arthur asked. "You think that's a good idea?"

"I bet I could get him interested, if it was the right bloke I was bidding on," Merlin said, pressing a lazy kiss onto Arthur's collarbone.

"Ooh, kinky," said Arthur, deadpan.

"Glad you like the idea," Merlin said. "I thought I'd bid on Lancelot— ow! you bit me."

Arthur smirked at Merlin as he rubbed his shoulder aggrievedly.

"Cheeky," Arthur said. "Maybe next time _I_ won't bid on _you_."

"No worries there," Merlin said, "I've already told Gwen I'm not on the market anymore."

"...yeah?" said Arthur, his throat suddenly dry. It was ridiculous, because he'd _known_ Merlin wasn't seeing anyone else, but still...

"Yeah," repeated Merlin, seemingly oblivious to Arthur's reaction. "Not really on the market anymore."

Arthur realized he was grinning more than he meant to, but that was all right, because Merlin was smiling back at him, blindingly bright. Then Arthur's phone got tossed somewhere onto the floor beside the bed, because it was suddenly, overwhelmingly important that Arthur kiss that smile until he had forgotten everything else.


End file.
